My Exploding Cat

Just stories and drawings really, no actual fissile felines.

Phoenix: Chapter 47 (Xavier)

“The wand doesn’t want to kill him!”

“More like you don’t! Look, he’s coming after us now!”

There was a growling, and Mark, a nine-foot-tall polar bear now, lunged at the oncoming attacker.

“Venira!” Leslie shouted, flailing her own wand at the assassin. He turned his attention away from Mark and started lumbering towards Leslie with a vague look in his eyes.

“Great, now he’s going faster!” I said.

“Better than shooting Mark! He’s still got his gun!”

“Occidere!” I shouted again, trying to hate him. The spell fizzled into nothingness three inches from the wand tip.

“Occidere!” I tried a third time. It was useless.

“Try to knock him out!” Leslie said, still focusing on holding her “Venira” spell in place.

“Um… Nesci!”

This one did work, knocking him to the ground. I wasn’t sure if he was still conscious or not. Mark didn’t seem to care: he was ready to attack, teeth bared.

But the man was not unconscious. In fact, he was raising his gun.

Mark stepped on his chest by the time the assassin had managed to pull the trigger. The bullet sailed through some muscle in the polar bear’s shoulder, and he found himself unable to put weight on it.

“RUN!” Leslie said. “He’s protected!”

Mark limped away before the man could get his breath back.

“Then we should protect Mark!” I said.

“Then do it!” Leslie shouted, her wand still keeping the assassin half-spellbound.


“That won’t stop bullets, Mark!” Key shouted.

“Don’t run to him!” Leslie warned. “You’ll only make it worse!”

But Key had run to Mark. Leslie’s “Venira” spell was losing its effect.

“Venira!” she repeated frantically, trying to recapture the assassin’s attention.

“Phoebe’s dying,” I noted.

“Not before her wings are clipped, you idiot,” Leslie snapped. “She’s not mortal.”

“She might be,” I said. “And if this man doesn’t die, it’s my fault if she does.”

Leslie had nothing to say to this. She just kept muttering, “Venira! Venira!” more frantically.

Mark was not doing well. Key was trying to find a way to help him retreat, but it wasn’t easy helping nine hundred pounds of polar bear retreat in hundred-degree weather.

“I need to get closer!” I said. “This spell only goes three inches when I try it. If I get up close enough…”

“That’s a really stupid plan.”

“I prefer brave.”

“You’re hot.”

“Thank you?”

I ran forward. This really was a stupid plan.

The assassin had his gun trained on Key next. I was four feet away; he was unsteadily aiming.

I bolted the last four feet and, with desperation, shin-kicked the gun out of the assassin’s hand. Well, I tried to, anyway—and later found out that I’d fractured my shin bone for it. His grip was firmer than my kick, though, so it didn’t fly out of the air like it would have in my imagination. Instead, I did something even more stupid. I grabbed the gun out of his hand.

The finger on the trigger pulled, of course, as I yanked it away, but the bullet shot under my armpit and missed Key by about two feet, if her recollection was right. I hurled the gun as hard as I could in another direction, but it landed only five feet away, throwing up a rift of sand. I hadn’t had enough time to aim my throw properly.

Leslie was giving up on the “Venira” spell. Meanwhile, in the absence of the gun, Key rushed away from Mark and to Leslie’s and my aid.

But as I was watching her, the surprised assassin kneed me in the ribs. He was strong. It felt like one of them had broken. Before I could realize that he was taking his advantage and dodge any other blows, he’d managed to break my nose as well. It bled furiously. I looked around, through the haze of pain and stars, and saw him punching out Leslie’s nose as well.

Before Leslie or I could think what we were trying to do next, Key finished her sprint and balled her right hand into a tight little fist that connected with his jaw in half a second even as he pulled his wand out. Her left fist smashed into his nose. She started beating on him, one fist after another, like a little kid hitting the floor during a temper tantrum. Her first hit had knocked a tooth loose—we heard it—but after the first concentrated two, she did little more damage.

“That’s for Mark!” she squeaked. Key didn’t do well under pressure, I was gathering.

Leslie, however, did. “Kill him off! Now!”

I raised my wand. “Occidere.”

And he fell to the ground, dead.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 31st, 2011 at 5:12 pm and is filed under Phoenix. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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